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The Man in Black stood in a speedboat, watching the woods behind him. He had a rifle trained in that direction, unsure if someone had followed him. If anyone other than Smith emerged from the forest, he would terminate them with extreme prejudice.
His breathing came in harsh rasps, his ribs protesting every rise and fall of his chest. Blood had run down his side and leg, pooling in his shoe. It had squished with every step as he cleared the compound, fled down their escape route, and climbed aboard the boat tethered to a dock beside a tiny river.
He checked his watch for the third time.
Smith should have arrived already.
Knowing that his window of escape narrowed by the second, he keyed the ignition.
An explosion cracked from the south, the concussive force from the blast sheering branches from trees, their already-colored leaves falling to the forest floor. The boat rocked on the water.
The Man in Black grabbed hold of the wheel to steady himself.
He watched as a mushroom cloud rose over the trees.
“Good-bye, my friend. I’ll finish your work, I swear it.”
Dropping the rifle to the seat beside him, the man slammed the throttle forward and navigated down the river.